


I Can Handle You, Man

by Walor



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme, MacCready is manhandled by the Sole Survivor one time and can't stop thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Handle You, Man

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt
> 
> Anon has a kink and that kink is MacCready getting manhandled by the M!SS.
> 
> +It happens once by accident and MacCready spends a lot of time thinking about it  
> ++M!SS is so oblivious to it that MacCready has to ask to be manhandled in bed again  
> +++M!SS pins MacCready down with one hand during sex.

When he’s finally intimate again he thinks of Lucy. He thinks of soft arms with careful hands and feather-light touches that skirt around his neck and cling to his back with the slight bite of nails. He thinks of a tiny waist and bony hips that needed to be handled as if they were as fragile as glass, with stuttering, quiet sighs and tender kisses. He thinks of his objection to any place other than a bed, as if he would push her up against a floor or wall. He thinks of his hesitance and his concerns, he’s good at breaking things and she putting them back together. But he was careful, oh so careful with her. And he thinks, that is how intimacy is.

Except the barber from Rivet City whom he hit up before he decided to give the Capital the big old middle finger, isn’t Lucy. He’s older than he is, unbelievably arrogant--and that’s coming from MacCready--smelling of smoke and whiskey with blue eyes that are like ice to his own. Calls him doll face, which is a joke in itself, both men know he’s got nothing going for him to let that name fly, but he let’s it slide anyway. Probably the only ‘endearment’ he knew. He’s filthy, but surprisingly compassionate, only going as far as slow and deep kissing until MacCready can’t get the taste of liquor off his lips for months. Hands, firm and warm, ghost his waist and hips for days on end and he thinks back to Lucy and his inadequacy compared the well-versed lips of Rivet City’s own public nuisance number one. And he thinks that is what he wants.

His new boss is big. Big is probably an understatement, but huge is reserved for super mutants and enormous well, Swan holds the rights. But he’s tall, like Danse in power armor tall, with arms and legs as thick as cannons, he might as well be one of those metal suits. His hands are calloused and rougher than his own, which means he was well-versed in hard labour before picking up a gun. He won’t tell MacCready what it was though, not that he minds much. Yet, his bulky fingers still manage to slip into unsuspecting pockets and are delicate with a bobby pin. At least his sticky fingers make up for his habit of insane amounts of generosity. That’s normally a big turn off, but he is stupidly handsome and MacCready is a sucker for attractive people--especially with how rare they are now that the world’s gone to hell. Deacon calls him Charmer in passing and damned if that isn’t fitting.

Their, well, relationship, isn’t what he had with Lucy. It isn’t a slow build up that takes place over years of growing up with one another in a hole in the ground. Where he sticks notes under the door of Little Lamplight’s medical center that tell her she’s brighter than all the light bulbs that shine in that dim cave. It’s fast and it’s sudden, and MacCready thinks he must be easy if the moment someone shows him a little affection with a cheesy one-liner--“the road can be a pretty lonely place until you meet someone to share it with?” talk about sap--he’s stuttering like he’s fifteen and getting his first kiss again. But it isn’t like Rivet City either. Unique and one-time only, with kisses that tease but don’t mean anything beyond simple satisfaction. They’re sweet and they’re chaste like they’ve been together for years. 

But when they have sex for the first time it’s weird. Charmer let’s MacCready take charge because it’s all he really knows. He thinks back to his time with Lucy and follows the memory’s rules to the T, with all the gentleness it entails because he thinks that’s how it’s supposed to work. Charmer follows along because he’s just as generous in bed as he is with money--much to MacCready’s disdain--and if MacCready wants him pliant then that’s what he’ll be. Except that’s not what he wants, it’s what he knows, and being careful with Charmer feels strange, the man’s built to last, goddamn! He tries to be suave like the barber, but he can’t when he has to stand-on the tips of his toes to get a peck, let alone press him against a wall.

So one day MacCready decides it’s time to switch and it’s as awkward as before. Charmer just mimics everything MacCready does, his kisses are soft and his hands are light and while he’s a lot more fragile-looking than his partner he doesn’t feel like he should be treated that way. He assumes the overwhelming amount of kindness is due to the fact that it’s his first time receiving and Charmer wants to do it right. But when it happens again, and again, he finds it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He thinks this is what intimacy is and he doesn’t want it.

\--

“This is ridiculous.” 

Charmer’s voice is an irritated rumble in his ear as he puts one leg off of the couch and onto the floor. His other leg is between MacCready’s own, pushing him up further against the arm of it, while he tries to put one hand somewhere to balance himself.

“Maybe you should cut back on the snack cakes, boss.” He means it as a tease, but it comes out way harsher than intended. The couch is small, but it’s dark outside and pouring rain to boot. It’s been a few weeks since either of them had seen each other, Railroad business and all that junk, and both of them needed a decent screw to get it out of their system. Charmer’s acting like a coiled spring and MacCready can see the impatience boiling up inside him as he fumbles around with his duster.

“Ha ha, how long did it take you to come up with that one?” He pushes Charmer’s hands away so he can unbutton the duster himself. He hangs his hand in the air for a second before putting it on the top of the couch with a visible twitch. He leans down to kiss at his neck but MacCready pushes him away when his body ends up pinning his arms to his chest. Charmer makes a frustrated noise in his throat that sounds a little like a growl, but bites his lip to hold it back.

MacCready raises an eyebrow before he rolls his eyes and mutters something along the lines of _dramatic ass_ , under his breath.

“Why do you wear so many damn shirts?” He’s shrugging out of his duster and MacCready is ready to suggest gagging the both of them before either of them say something stupid that they don’t mean. Charmer goes in for a kiss instead, hungry and purposeful, like he’s trying to steal the air out of his lungs. MacCready let’s his eyes shut, knowing he can take his clothes off by memory, until his elbow catches Charmer in the ribs and makes the man snarl.

“Damn this fucking couch,” is all he says before he grabs him by the sides of his duster like he weighs as much as a cat. He’s slammed against the wall before he can really understand exactly what is going on before his lips are crushed beneath Charmer’s, hard and fierce. He groans into the kiss as Charmer’s leg shoves itself between his own, grinding up against him hard enough to earn a gasp. He reaches out, trying to get a hold of something, but Charmer catches his hands in their mindless flailing and _pins_ them above his head like it’s nothing.

He’s vaguely aware of a hand that reaches down his pants and pushes his shirts up far enough his chest get’s a brush of cold air. The shiver that comes goes straight to belly and the heat that is pooling between them. Charmer breaks the kiss as suddenly as he started it, attacking his neck like a fucking vampire, biting and sucking while he drags his hand down his chest with nails that set his skin on fire. 

“Fuck,” is out of his mouth before he can help it, and he bites his bruised lips to keep himself from letting out anything else on accident. Charmer is chuckling against his neck, deep and low, and pushes his shirts up further and _holy shit_. His eyes snap open at the feeling of cold and slick hands being shoved down the back of his pants and he doesn’t know how or when Charmer was able to grab the small vial of oil he kept on him.

“F-Jesus,” spills from his mouth as Charmer slides in two fingers, deep and impatient. He opens his mouth to say something, probably dumb, but Charmer’s crushing their lips together again. He can’t help but squirm and whine as fingers thrust up and scissor him so fast you’d think Charmer was being timed or something. But he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been before.

His jeans are painfully tight and Charmer’s lips muffle the embarrassing whimpers that bubble up in his throat. He tugs at his arms out of desperation to relieve some pressure, but Charmer snarls like an animal and pulls his fingers out. His hands are released and MacCready doesn’t even think to take them down before Charmer removes his knee, flips him around and traps him against the wall.

He hears Charmer fumble with his zipper before his pants are pulled down far enough to expose his ass. His arms are re-grabbed and pinned above his head and there are teeth at his neck. Charmer’s got a hand grabbing at his ass before he slides in with the help of a generous amount of oil. MacCready can barely get a word out of his mouth, he’s panting raggedly, keening and gasping with every push of Charmer’s dick while fingers, cold and wet dig into his hip. It’s rough and his chest scrapes against the wood on the wall, biting and irritating, but it makes his back arch and his dick twitch.

He lets out a very embarrassing whine at the lack of attention to his cock and Charmer finally lets go of his hip, pulling and stroking like he’s about to tear it off. He hisses in pain but comes before he can even make sense of how damn _good_ it feels. Charmer follows close behind, finishing with one last bite to his neck, riding his finish with a few last thrusts.  
Charmer’s got his pants up before he can slump against the wall, spent and exhausted. He’s pulled away from the wood carefully, strong hands pulling down his shirts and wrapping around his waist to bring him over to the couch. Charmer sets him down gently, picking up his hat that he only now realized had fallen off before and setting it in his lap. Charmer stands there awkwardly, eyes glued to his neck that is more than likely a mess of black and blue by now, before he sputters, “I’ll, uh, go make us something.”

And it’s like nothing happened, except for the blossom of bruises and smell of sex.

\--

Charmer goes back to his former behavior the following day. He doesn’t tease MacCready about his sudden limp, but his face goes red the moment his eyes land on his neck. His patience has returned and he’s nothing but courteous and kind. They spend three weeks together, running jobs for folks in Goodneighbor with a heap of caps waiting for them on the side and Charmer is nothing but the plaint and overly agreeable heap of mush he was before.

And MacCready hates it.

It’s like he’s freaking sixteen again. They pass by a stable brick wall? He imagines what the bricks would feel like pressed up against his bare skin while Charmer shoves him up against it, leg between his own and whispering in his ear. MacCready get’s a little too snarky and with no sign of stopping? Boss forces him to his knees out of view and has him put his mouth to better use. _That table looks solid, how about you throw me on top of it and trap me with those thick arms of yours, boss?_

The damned thoughts won’t leave him alone and it’s driving him up a freaking wall. He’s itching something awful for a repeat of that night, anything he could do to flip whatever switch Charmer had in him.

At first he just tries to make it seem like the night was no big deal. _What limp, boss? I’m all ready for round two_. He plays the compliment game. _You sure know how to use your hands, boss_. Nothing. He flirts. _Looking tense, how about you let off some steam, boss?_ Flirting only get’s him awkward pity giggles. He snarks. _Well maybe if you learned how to shoot properly you’d actually get the job done_. He gets sassed right back. He tries to make it a game the next time they’re in bed. Charmer gets on top and MacCready flips them. But Charmer’s flexible and willing and gracious and rolls with whatever he gives him, and MacCready is ready to pull his hair out at the roots.

It’s only a matter of time before Nick-freaking-Valentine picks up on the clues that MacCready’s dumping. 

He’s tapping his foot impatiently as he watches the pink sky above Diamond City fade into shades of purple and blue while the sun sets beyond the emerald gates. The table besides him shakes lightly, threatening to spill his beer if he keeps at it. His sniper rifle is laid out on his lap and he’s cleaned it twice already, but starting on a third, with jittery and impatient hands.

“Trying to make it look pre-war?” It’s the closest he’s ever come to literally leaping out of his skin in his life. Nick is there, bemused, with a fresh cigarette between his teeth staring down at him like he’s the one up to no good.

“Jesus Nick, can you warn a guy next time?” He has to command his hand to let go of the trigger, pent up with unexplained anxiety. Valentine looks at him like he’s the one interrupting his night out on the balcony.

“I thought you’d hear me open the door, these old parts aren’t what they used to be.”

“You’re sneaking around admit it,” Nick let’s out a little sigh of smoke and goes to sit beside him. He has to make an effort reach the chair since the muzzle of MacCready’s gun sticks far out and into the way. He doesn’t move it. 

They lapse into silence, with the occasional soft exhale from Nick and muttered, edited curses from MacCready. While he doesn’t feel those yellow, mechanical eyes on him he stops tapping his foot anyway. He spends a good while cleaning the barrel trying to undo what years have done to it. Not that it helps much if only to make the rust shinier. Nick let’s out a light chuckle after a moment that he pretends to hide and MacCready nearly throws the damn gun off the roof.

“See something funny, rust bucket? Mind sharing with everyone else?”

“Ah, to be young,” he says with a wry smile as he takes a drag of his cigarette. “I think you’re putting way too much effort into this. . .production.”

“Why do you do that, huh? Cut to the chase or don’t say anything, it’s that simple.” He’s got an inkling of patience and he’ll be damned if he loses it on a freaking robot.

“I’m not one for meddling-”

“Oh that’s _rich_.”

“What I mean is, I don’t go sticking my nose into people’s private affairs if I can’t help it.” That’s a lie. If the Institute gave synths X-ray vision Nick would have had a case file on Diamond City’s underwear. “But you’re making it awfully obvious something’s upsetting you.”

“Oh man, there goes my hopes of being an undercover spy. Truly devastating.”  
“Not that we all enjoy this attitude,” he’s lost his smile. MacCready: 1 Toaster: 0. “But if you’re going to keep letting this, issue, upset you, we’re going to have to hire another mercenary.”

“You saying I can’t shoot?” He straightens his back out and furrows his brow. Nick frowns, but isn’t putting a lot of effort into it. He’s being baited, but he’s too frustrated and arrogant to care.

“I’m _saying_ , that if you can’t stop getting distracted, you’re going to have to start explaining why all your bullets are ending up in walls and not _heads_.” 

“You’ve got some nerve,” it’s like saying ‘ no you’ in an argument but it’s all he can come up with. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and burn to the bone. No one insults his skills with a gun. Nick puts out the cigarette and stands up. Job done.

“Be glad it’s me. Piper wanted to write a whole article on it, considering all the _drama_. It would have been quite the page turner.” He’s smiling that jerky-synth smile of his as he stands up and adjusts his coat. “She might still do it if this keeps up, just thought I’d give you a little heads up.”

He dips his hat and goes back out the door and MacCready wonders how bad it would be if he got off one shot. Just to take his hat off. _Missing heads my as-butt, suck on that detective jerkoff_.

He stays on the balcony, far after the sky has faded to black and the lights of the Diamond City Market chase away the stars. He stews in a mess of frustration, disregarding his gun, and tapping his foot violently. Leaving the protective gates of the city now is a ridiculous idea, but his muscles are twitching and a walk to the Combat Zone would do wonders. Charmer isn’t supposed to be back until early next morning so it isn’t like he’s needed anywhere. Taking potshots at super mutants from the top of Diamond City’s gates sounds good, if he can find a way to get up. Heck, the climb alone could do it.

He jerks his legs as he moves to stand up and the beer he left on the table from earlier finally careens off. He leaps back, missing most of liquid but his duster and the rim of his pants get splashed. 

“Isn’t it my dam-dang day.” Remember it’s for Duncan. He’s inside with a slam of the door, tossing his hat anywhere that isn’t beside him and starts pulling off his duster.

Under normal circumstances he’d just say “screw it” and parade around in beer-dampened clothes. But changing requires action, something he needs a lot of. He’s rough and careless, slipping it off with a frantic edge and he only realizes he’s hard when his pants feel a lot tighter than before.

“This is insane.” That’s it. He’s an addict. _Hi, my name is Robert Joseph MacCready, and I love being treated roughly so much I can get myself off_. Jacking off all night because he got the hots from taking his clothes off like a drama king isn’t exactly what he wants to do--because if anything he’s going to be vicious and does not want to tear his cock off by accident--but it’s better than doing nothing. He doesn’t even know if he’s home alone right now anyway. Speaking of, “Um, hey is anyone home?”

Silence greets him because Nick Valentine and Piper Wright definitely have better things to do then stay at home angry at themselves while they stick seventeen thumbs up their asses. With the all clear he takes a seat down on the bed and thinks about taking the rest of his clothes off, but who cares right? He slides his belt off because that’s the only thing that’s keeping him from getting his dick loose and whips it away with a loud thud. He pushes his pants down instead of taking them off and grips his cock like he’s gripping a gun.

He hisses a little at that and eases up, biting his lip as dry and long fingers stroke him up and down. He immediately thinks of Charmer. But Charmer’s hands aren’t spidery, they’re thick and stubby and rough with callouses. He groans and uses his other hand to push up his shirt and mimic the pattern from three weeks ago. He feels silly, even when by himself, dragging his hand up and around his chest frantically. At least he isn’t throwing himself around the room like a possessed feral ghoul--though the thought of being shoved up against the wall is not unwelcomed.

He runs with it. Charmer’s breath in his ear, panting and phantom teeth digging into his neck hard enough to leave bruises for days. A hand digs into the skin on his hips, pulling him closer while a knee presses between his legs, both spreading them apart and keeping him trapped against whatever, a wall, a table, anything. The hand on his cock slows down and he let’s out a whine, the friction is nearly unbearable. He hears Charmer say, “oh whoa,” loudly as a hand sneaks back behind him and-

His eyes snap open--when the hell did he close them?--and sees the man of the hour standing in the door way with dark eyes glued to him in surprise.

This is it. This is how he dies.

His hands are off him in an instant, covering his face, while his brings his legs up at the knee to hide is obvious problem. He bites the inside of his cheek mentally screaming, _you didn’t lock the fucking door, you moron_.

He hears Charmer let out a little sputtering laugh, “What are you doing now?”

“Allowing myself to die. We’ve had a good run, boss, but it’s time.”

“You sound like Deacon.” 

“What an awful thing to say.” He hears the Charmer’s heavy boots walk up an around him until he’s at the side of the bed. He keeps his hands over his face. They sit in silence for a few seconds before Charmer says in obvious amusement, 

“You’re so embarrassed.”

“I think you’re going to run Valentine out of town if you keep this detective work up.”

“I’ve seen you naked!” 

“I think this is a little bit more than that.” Charmer’s hands wrap around his wrists and pull his hands to the side. He puts up little resistance. “Your face is incredibly red.”

“I got a bad sunburn.” He let’s his legs slide back down, while Charmer grins at him with bright eyes. 

“You aren’t supposed to be home right now, this is all your fault.” Charmer laughs with his pre-war white teeth and leans in closer. He smells like gunpowder and sweat.

“Well, you didn’t put a sock on the door knob.”

“I will not participate in your weird pre-war masturbation rituals.” 

Charmer hesitates from leaning in further to tilt his head to the side, burying it in his arm as his body shakes with quiet laughter. “What kind of partner are you, laughing as I lay here dying.” 

Charmer moves his head back and kisses him with scarred lips, while his hands release MacCready’s wrists to press against the bed. The kiss is slow with soft a press of lips as Charmer moves the rest of his body onto the bed to hover over him. The kiss isn’t bad, it’s pleasant and Charmer’s never been bad at kissing, but the pace feels wrong. His annoyance builds when Charmer moves a hand to cup his cheek and he breaks the kiss with an irritated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Charmer’s moved back to give him space and MacCready wants to scream, _no, no, no_ from the tallest building. 

“I-,” he hesitates. What was the worse that could happen if he actually came clean to Charmer? While nothing comes to him--as everything seems rather small compared to being caught jerking it--his throat catches when he tries to voice his actual want. Hancock made this stuff look so easy. Maybe he should of asked for a lesson in bedroom requests or something. He wet his lips, “Listen I, well, I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Charmer sits up with a little “oh,” and damn it, this man is going to cause him death by blue balls. No man should be this oblivious.

“No, no,” he’s quick to grab Charmer’s arms. “That isn’t what I meant. I just, I don’t want to have sex like this, soft and slow and gentle. I want it to be like that one night, a few weeks ago.” It’s anything but eloquent, still it get’s the job done.

Charmer’s brows furrow slightly and he falls quiet as he thinks before he asks, “Are you talking about the night where I had you against the wall?” 

He says it so easily. “Uh yes, that night.”

“Oh, okay,” is all he says as he slips off his back gun holster and MacCready feels like everyone but him is in on some inside joke. 

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” His voice is a little higher than he would of liked and Charmer looks surprised. 

“Well I just thought you liked it slow better, it’s how you’ve always been. But if you want something like that I can do it.” He pats his thigh with a little understanding smile. 

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Now that’s rude.” Charmer’s smirking, all teeth and mischievous as he unclips the Pip-boy on his wrist. 

“I’ve been dropping hints for weeks,” he wants to sound threatening, but his voice has an edge of desperation.

“I just thought you were mad at me for leaving you in Sanctuary for so long.”

“I didn’t realize your skull was that thick,” he doesn’t know what he should do, should he stand up or something? He props himself up on his elbows, seems like a good half-way point.

“I thought you liked thick things.” He groans loudly.

“I changed my mind, get out.” Charmer’s grinning like a feral animal, with sharp pointy canines that MacCready just really wants on his neck. Charmer kisses him and it’s fierce and hungry and sharp with teeth that pull at his lips and, _god_ , it’s everything he’s been thinking about for the last three weeks. Charmer’s hands, delightfully rough like he wanted, push up the layers of shirts and back down, dragging along his side. He shudders when they scrap over his rib, catching on indentations, and move around to his ass. He breaks the kiss as quickly as he started it and MacCready whines like he doesn’t have the ability to feel shame. Charmer gets a good grip on his back, pulling MacCready’s pants back up over his dick, and lifts him up- “I left the oil downstairs.”

“You’re a danger to everyone around you,” MacCready wraps his legs around Charmer’s waist, which is like wrapping his legs around a tree trunk, while his hands grab onto his shoulders. They get two feet before Charmer’s slamming up into the wall, drawing a pained hiss that’s devoured by Charmer’s lips. There’s teeth and tongue and he feels Charmer’s stubble scratch against his cheek and it’s anything but irritating. He feels hands claw up his exposed back and tear down his spine, like he’s trying to mark everywhere.

“God, you’re so fucking tiny, what the hell,” Charmer’s complaint is muffled against lips and when MacCready tries to make a retort, Charmer locks their mouths together and pulls him away from the wall. He’s walking again, but he’s so distracted, digging the heels of his boots into the small of Charmer’s back. He breaks the kiss at that, his lips are red and wet and MacCready wants to abuse them even more.

“I’ll drop you if you keep that up,” they’re going down the stairs, “then no sex for you.”

“Truly a fate worse than death,” he’s panting and leans in to bite Charmer’s neck before giving it a soft kiss, determined to leave a mark of his own.

“Now you sound like Hancock, something I should know about?” He tugs at Charmer’s hair in response and presses his lips to his jaw, against the prickle of stubble. He lets his other hand slide down Charmer’s front to his pants before pushing it up beneath his shirt. 

“You got me I’m a synth impostor,” he says lowly as he drags his nails up Charmer’s side while he carries him into the downstairs bedroom. 

“I knew it, MacCready wouldn’t be so careless as to jack off without a copy of Grognak.” He slides his hand out from underneath Charmer’s shirt and gives one of his ears a sharp tug. Charmer laughs and it’s deep and rumbles in his chest, and the heat between them is hot and nearly unbearable. 

Charmer tosses MacCready on to the bed downstairs before he slips out of his coat and is right back on top of him. The bed’s small, smaller than the one upstairs, but is able to hold the two of them, but just barely. MacCready reaches out to grab Charmer’s shirt but the larger man grabs his wrists and pins them above his head. He mashes there lips together, teeth clacking against each other and Charmer moans in obvious delight and it goes right to his dick. He’s going to come before they get anywhere at this point.

He tugs at his wrists, but Charmer’s got at least a good sixty pounds on him and his grip is solid. Charmer pushes his hands up and rearranges his own so he’s got one free and one holding them together. He parts and sits up, looking down at him with this shit-eating grin that makes MacCready _shudder_.

“I wish I still had a camera, because you look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he bites his lip and feels his cheeks burn. Charmer reaches back to pull his shoes off with a click of his tongue, “Maybe I should of waited in the door way longer, then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Lazy.” 

“You were just so into it, kind of wanted to see what would happen next. What were you thinking about? I bet it was something dirty, like doing it with the Silver Shroud.”

“For someone who has the name, Charmer, you sure have a way with intimate talk, boss.”

“Says the kinky little shit that calls me boss.”

“I don’t know know what else to call you!” Another shoe comes off and Charmer adjusts to grab his pants.

“I have a name you know, you can ask me about it.”

“What’s your name, boss?”

“Nah, I’m not going to tell you now, I like boss too much.” Charmer tosses his pants off the bed when he get’s them free and leans forward to kiss him. He pulls back almost immediately, which drags a frustrated noise from MacCready’s throat.

“F-Effin’ tease,” he hisses as Charmer busies his free hand with the vial of oil to rub on his fingers. Charmer leans in close and nips at his jaw with a husky chuckle. His breath smells like cigarettes and a hint of whisky and MacCready wants the taste on his tongue for months.

“So, for future reference, does this mean we can have sex against lockers and stuff. I mean I get you’re in to tables but I didn’t want to rule it out,” he whispers and there’s a playful tone to his voice. Bas-Jerkwad knew the whole time. He just waited for him to _ask_.

“Son of a-” his swear gets cut off with a needy whine as Charmer slides a finger into him. He leans back up to look down at him with dark and hungry eyes. He’s lost the playful edge his voice had a second ago and he’s crooking a finger with the intent to make him _beg_. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and dammit, he just wants to hurry up and finish already. His hands twitch in Charmer’s grip and the man just tightens his hold. There’s another finger and he can taste iron in his mouth and winces as his cock waits painfully for some attention. He squirms uncomfortably in his grasp when Charmer goes and curls his fingers just enough to brush against it.

“Fucking, please, just god, fuck me already you jackass, _please_ ,” the fingers are out and Charmer’s pulling a leg over his shoulder with a vicious grin.

“Hey, watch your fucking language,” he gives MacCready’s thigh a quick kiss as he oils up his dick. He’s too focused on getting off to form a good let alone coherent retort and just turns his head to the side with a low moan as Charmer slowly pushes in. It isn’t exactly like a repeat of the night three weeks ago, but it’s a damned good start in the right direction. He’s panting, nearly breathless and digging his nails into Charmer’s palm that holds his hands down. He feels lips press against his Adam’s apple as he whines with every thrust while Charmer’s other hand digs into his thigh. 

He lets out a desperate noise when his mouth can’t form the plea and Charmer releases one of his hands so he can reach down and finally finish stroking himself. He barely gets a firm touch in before he’s coming, covering his chest and part of Charmer’s shirt. Charmer’s a quick second, finishing with a few soft “oh, oh, ohs” muffled against MacCready’s thigh while he interlocks his fingers with MacCready’s own. He pulls out after a few final thrusts that ride out the after glow, letting MacCready’s leg drop to the side as he collapses down on top of him. 

They lay in silence for a moment, panting roughly as they catch their breaths before MacCready groans at the massive weight on his chest.

“Your huge ass is going to crush me,” the room stinks of sweat and sex. He’d suggest a shower, but he’s tired and the pent-up energy from early feel like it’s been harshly sucked out of him. 

“I’m tired, it’s late, I’ll go upstairs later,” his voice is husky and he still hasn’t let go of MacCready’s hand. Charmer leans over and presses his lips to MacCready’s before he pulls away with a little goofy grin.

“So yes for lockers?”


End file.
